


The Fell Star Consumes

by Raikishi



Series: The Fell Star Consumes [1]
Category: Fire Emblem: Fuukasetsugetsu | Fire Emblem: Three Houses
Genre: Creature Fic, Dragon My Unit | Byleth, F/M, Human Sacrifice, Interspecies Relationship(s), Pre-Relationship
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-04-19
Updated: 2020-04-19
Packaged: 2021-03-02 05:41:24
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 3,146
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/23740012
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Raikishi/pseuds/Raikishi
Summary: The Fell Star is born hungry.Always wanting.Incapable of abstaining.“No,” the Fell Star tells him.Or Claude is Byleth's viriginal sacrifice. Except not virginal and not really a sacrifice
Relationships: My Unit | Byleth/Claude von Riegan
Series: The Fell Star Consumes [1]
Series URL: https://archiveofourown.org/series/1777048
Comments: 7
Kudos: 144





	The Fell Star Consumes

“Betrothed to the Fell Star,” they whisper as if Claude cannot hear them.

“At his own request.”

“Stupid boy.”

“Touched in the head. It’s that Fodlan blood. Runs the wrong way in their veins. Makes them soft in body and mind. Improperly built.”

“Like …”

_The Queen._

“Like ?” Claude asks, twirling in his wedding finest, wearing a smile that hedges towards sharp. The attendants blink in surprise but otherwise do not turn away.

It’s the Almyran in them. Their blood too heated. Makes them belligerent and mean.

He presses his lips together, still smiling as he asks them to repeat themselves.

“Only concerned for you, my lord,” one of them says, instead of ‘ _Prince_ ’.

His title as inconsequential as a dry desert breeze.

He turns back to the mirror, holding his arms wide for an attendant who’d once tried to poison him, his mouth filling with an old bitter taste. He sees the sky reflect in his mirror, rich and full of starlight, hovering deceptively close in the bright gaze of the mirror. 

Nearly close enough to touch.

* * *

The stars in the Blue Sea Moon go unwished upon because amongst the others, like a wolf in a cradle, is the Fell Star. And a wish brought to the Fell Star demanded sacrifice.

She burned no brighter than any other, nearly undetectable among the glittering thousands beside her in the cradle of the night sky.

She was a creature of mimicry, a soul with no real shape, wearing the face of a Goddess and a cloak of her gifts but beyond the veneer, she was hunger itself. A creature born without a heart, struggling to feed the missing gap, carrying an emptiness that rubbed bone-deep. A twisted longing that made her dangerous. Sharpened her teeth and twisted her fingers. Marked her a vessel made to devour.

Born hungry.

Always wanting.

“No,” the Fell Star tells him beneath a heavy curtain of starlight, her jade green eyes and hair still shimmering with the heavenly light of her home.

She dusts herself off, the scales of her arms and legs shining crystalline as she shakes loose the dust of her fall. She doesn’t pay Claude much attention, her gaze on her surroundings instead as she shifts like a wyvern seeking out prey.

“What do you mean ‘No’?!” Claude sputters, spreading his arms wide in front of a beast who could gouge his heart out with the tip of her fingers. He makes a show of looking down his body, frowning at his chest for a moment before loosening the collar of his silks and letting them dip low.

She blinks at him, slow and reptilian, tilting her head like a snake catching prey. The scales of her cheeks and jaw glimmer in the moon as she inhales slowly. Scenting the air.

He steps close as he dares, “I’m a catch!”

The Fell Star’s face … ripples in a show of emotion he does not understand but she says nothing, only looks at him for a long moment. This close he can smell ozone on her hair and see sparks on her skin. Her general form is human but not really, caught somewhere between ~~wyvern~~ dragon and human, borrowing features from two species too far apart to align properly.

Her feet and claws seem too large for her body, meant to exist on a creature several times her size. Her chest is bare, just one dark maw in the very center. As if someone had cracked her ribs apart and torn out her heart. The darkness sputters blue and red streaks as if she were consuming starlight still, black mass twisting towards him as if sensing his gaze.

When he looks up she is towering over him, the rough scale hide of her jaw and throat glimmering like knives above his head.

He feels a little rumble of heat this close to her mouth, spying something glowing and red behind the dense row of jagged teeth.

Claude smiles with painted confidence as he takes off his shirt.

“What,” the Fell Star draws a breath, the sound sibilant over the razor edge of her teeth, “Are you doing.”

“I mean, I might not have the most meat on me,” Claude huffs, stretching out his arms and then letting his fingers rove over his chest as he leans into her arm. Surprisingly, she shifts to accommodate, one large claw coming around to cradle his back in a hold that can only be described as gentle, “But I’m lean. Like venison. Have you had venison? It’s smoother than cattle. Firmer – oh, have you had cattle or do you prefer human?“

“I –“ her face does that thing again. Ripples. She touches clawed hands to her forehead in a surprisingly human gesture, “I thought you were meant to be my bride."

“So you’ve changed your mind,” Claude winks at her as he rocks back on his heels, leaning firmly against her claws, pretending his pulse does not quicken as she closes her hand around him.

“No,” she says with a tone of aggrieved judgment, “Only curious why you would describe yourself as a meal instead of bride.”

“Well, y’know,” Claude gestures at her mighty form, daring to reach out to pat her wing, “The myths are not exactly clear what you do with your brides. Just figured … it’d be a double treat for you.”

Her expression slips enough for him to read the emotion. Panged. Discomforted.

He chuckles and is surprised to find it genuine as he makes himself comfortable in her hold. One claw draws around his waist, holding himself carefully away from the edge of her open chest and he nearly purrs at the gesture.

“I mean it’s not my preference to be eaten,” he pauses, winking at her, “But I am amenable to being _devoured_.”

The Fell Star makes a noise like a snort and he laughs again at the little plume of warm air hitting his face. It smells like spellwork, an unnatural heat shaped by arcane forces.

The Fell Star mutters something that sounds suspiciously like ‘what on _earth_ ’ before she lifts him up and sets him well away from her.

“I have no interest in a bride,” she says, spreading her wings as she looks to the skies again.

“Whoa, whoa, whoa,” Claude calls out, grabbing for her wings, heartbeat a roar in his ears when he sees her pupils contract, understanding the gesture to back off. He lifts his hand away but plants himself firmly beneath her wingspan, ensuring she’d knock him to the ground if she tried to lift off, trusting her to stand still.

“Do you intend to go back?” he asks, “You can’t fool me. We both know you can’t make it back just yet.”

She tilts her head at him and he feels danger prickle at the base of his scalp, reading tension in her arms and shoulders as she lowers herself back, the movement reptilian and cold.

“I did my research,” he says, holding confidence in an iron grip lest his nerves escape him, “With the Savior King and the Flame Emperor. You joined their war and fought by their side for a year.”

He doesn’t let his voice wobble as she steps closer. Her chest glows a pale red as her features edge towards dragon instead of human.

“The star maps show the Fell Star returning the night exactly two months after the King's war was done - long enough to make it a full year after the prince met his trusted advisor in the Goddess Tower. With the Flame Emperor, the Fell Star rose three days after her war ended, a full year after her strategist first appeared. And I say first appeared on earth, not in battle - otherwise, the dates are shorter. There are myths and legends written down by those who knew her personally. Scribbled down in old journals because us humans want to remember a friend. The Emperor met a friend in her very gardens. The King found a guide in the midst of his prayers."

The Fell Star says nothing. Her face smooth as the moon.

"But there are other times when you come and go. There are tales of strategists throughout history. And tales of a wandering mercenary carrying starlight, traveling with the winds who always stays much longer than the full year."

He can smell fire again, knows she is rolling embers in her mouth. His heart pounds but he doesn't back down, drawing out pages of old documents from his pockets.

“I found you throughout history. In torn paintings capturing only the back of your head. In journals. In papers that survived the trenches. The Savior King and the Flame Emperor had a strategist with the same handwriting. And a similar subtle ferocity,” Claude points at two blood-stained pages, the sheets differently aged, from different eras, with the same sharp handwriting as if the person who’d written it had been unaccustomed to pen and paper, “You stay longer sometimes but it takes at least a year before you can return. When the Flame Emperor rallied her armies again, you were back in the skies."

He narrows his eyes, guessing, "You never stay past a year in times of warfare. Didn't show up when the Flame Emperor's second war though she called for you. Her strategist was different. More … inept. If you’d been there, I wager she would have survived...”

Green eyes go slitted, narrowed on an old journal with crumbling edges.

He’d caught her off guard. Smeared away at the placidity of her expression to reveal grief and a deep longing sadness that rushed over her features like a tide before sweeping back again.

“You didn’t know,” Claude realizes, “Sorry, I – didn’t realize you …”

“I knew,” the Fell Star says and her wings slowly fold away, “And I felt for her cause. But not enough to fight her wars. I tire of human warfare and your many excuses to shed blood.”

She prods him in the chest with one long tipped claw, the pressure of her push carefully controlled as she rakes up one thin line of blood down the center.

“So, I need no more brides. Or sacrifices. No more payments to fight your battles,” she says, the sound low and impossible for a human, stemming from the very far back of her throat and shuddering in a soft way like a wyvern’s threat response, “You can tell the other humans that.”

“W-wait!” Claude pushes back, grimacing at the bite of her claw into his sternum.

Her eyes narrow. She does not claw into him any further but she also does not relent, holding him at bay.

“Who says I’ve come to enlist you?” Claude asks and her nostrils flare in a small but distinct gesture of displeasure, “I’ve brought no war for you to be involveedd –“

His words wobble as she presses her face into his neck, a shudder racing up his body as his knees buckle. Her scales are cool against him but not cold, the edges of them scratching lightly against the sensitive spot behind his ear as she pulls back in a slow deliberate move. He utters a little gasp as her tongue slips over his throat, dry and rasping over his jawline as her hair tickles his chin.

Claude finds himself clinging to one wing, trying desperately to stay upright when she pulls away again. He can feel his cheeks burning, heartbeat pounding in his ear as he blinks stupidly at her. For once, at a loss for words.

“You smell like Almyran heat and taste like spices not easily found in common markets. The harem you’ve just left clings like a shroud,” the Fell Star recites slowly like a Queen passing judgment, her voice growing low and dangerous. She makes a show of sniffing him again, the tip of her nose grazing his pulse as she inhales, “And I can smell your bloodline like a sweet poison, Prince Khalid.”

“Claude,” he squeaks out, “In Fodlan, it’s Claude.”

He wraps an arm around her neck and she makes a clicking sound in the back of her throat. Ozone and heat lift up in the air, the scent heavy and thick with a threat.

“I am Claude and no one else here,” he says, “No title. No rank. No war behind me. I’ve come with neither soldiers nor attendants. Smell me again. You’ll find all the incense and tea you want. But no warfare.”

The Fell Star's teeth graze the base of his neck, razing sharp clear lines over his pulse point and for one long frightening moment, he thinks he feels her teeth sink into him, through flesh and bone, rupturing blood vessels. Iron floods his tongue as death inches ever closer, the scythe with which he’d been born under slinking under his chin.

With a sound like a sigh, the Fell Star pulls away again and he resists the urge to claw at his own throat to check his skin. He clenches his hands hard as if he can hold the quiver in his fists and refuses to allow himself to sway when she pulls away.

“Speak then,” the Fell Star commands, folding her arms and wings away from him, “Why have you come looking for me?”

“I’m your bride,” he says, spreading his arms wide, “No other reason.”

The Fell Star doesn’t scoff but she turns away with a cold reptilian dismissal in much the same way his wyvern turns down inferior rats during mealtime. Disinterest casting a shadow over her face as her wings fan out once again.

“Are you so accustomed to being humanity’s weapon?” he pries, slotting himself neatly into her wingspan again.

“Yes,” she says in a tone that is meant to be dismissive but carries too many notes of regret to succeed in doing so. Her gaze turns westward, far past the mountain border, expression going distant. In the center of her chest, the blank hole where a heart would be, glows eerily red.

“I’m tired of warfare too,” the truth falls from Claude’s lips too easily. A truth like a pearl, formed by time under duress, “I have no interest in gambling lives. Or betting my own.”

The Fell Star neither looks at him nor replies but he sees her jaw twitch, can tell she is listening.

“In Almyra, there is one throne and one King. His many sons and daughters fight for the right to rule, clawing at the others to trample them down and bolster themselves. Once they seat themselves on that throne, the others are put down,” he tells her, “Royal blood is its own poison. So I gave up the claim in the only way that’d guarantee my life.”

“You ran away.”

“Yes,” he tells her, steeling himself, “I’m not going back. I can’t. So - no war, no battle. Nowhere you have to adapt as a strategist and leader. Only me and you. Free to go where the wind takes us. I think this benefits us both, don’t you?”

“No battle, huh?” the Fell Star glances behind him, scenting the air. She loosens a breath of fire with such force the air rends around the flames, buckling beneath unnatural strength and steady weight. Tendrils of smoke cling to her mouth, dancing alongside embers as she examines the skies again.

“Not after that,” Claude assures her. Even with his sharpened eyesight, he can only pick out a singular unmarked wyvern fleeing from them, its rider hunched in its saddle, no doubt cradling fresh wounds, “And if they come again –“

He snatches his bow from the ground.

Fires.

The Fell Star makes a little humming sound as they watch the wyvern fall.

“They won’t come again,” Claude says, steel in his voice, “They only followed this time to make sure I wasn’t simply fleeing.”

He faces her, touches a hand to the smoke and embers at her jaw as he looks her in the eye.

“I intend to be freed tonight,” he says quietly.

“Through death if need be?” her jaw unhinges like a serpent, closing over an arm and he shudders, a frisson of fearful exhilaration slithering up his spine.

“I’ve always wagered well,” he tells her, the taste of his own victories like a bitter powder on the back of his tongue. Remembering cousins and siblings dredged up in baths and rivers. Eunuchs and servants who’d placed loyalty in the wrong places vanishing from the harem corners. He points an arrow against her eye, the point glimmering with poison beneath the moonlight, holding it steady as her teeth sink gently into his flesh.

Her eyes go slitted, predatory and dangerous but he holds his arrow steady, unmoving because her teeth hover at the very surface of his skin still.

They stand for a long moment beast and prince.

Goddess and outcast.

Starlight on the edge of collapse.

And then unbelievably, the Fell Star laughs. Not a full laugh. He’s not certain her anatomy allows for that. She laughs like a wyvern, some noise from within her vibrating against his arm, growing stronger until her form is shivering with the feel of it. She releases him, eyes gleaming as she looks at him.

Interest like a flame over his skin and he feels himself respond in kind.

“We have a deal, my friend?” he asks, throat rasping and dry.

Her head tips in the barest nod and then she smiles like a predator, “Friend? I thought you were meant to be my bride.”

Claude grins, leaning into her chest, feeling a weight leave him in one great wave. Almyra and Fodlan slipping off his shoulders, cast away like molted skin. There’s a buzz beneath his skin, the feel like starlight.

He flattens his hand against the back of her head, feeling for a patch of scales at the base of her neck and scratching tentatively until her eyelids shiver and she sighs.

“Sorry, wife,” he purrs, dropping his voice low, feeling weightless with his new freedom. He bats his lashes at her, “Take me to the stars won’t you?”

He feels her rumble again, laughter caught in her body like captured lightning and presses a hand against her mouth as she goes to lick his throat again, “Whoa - careful. I might’ve –“

She doesn’t quite roll her eyes but it’s a near thing. Her tongue twists over his fingers, slender and quick over the fine points of his fingertips, tracking down to the two-step trip of his pulse. 

“My dear,” she hums, voice dipping low like a honey-sweet lure, “This bit of poison you’ve smeared on your skin is not enough to deter me. Haven’t you heard the myths?”

The Fell Star consumes,” he purrs, arching into her touch, tilting his head to the stars as he breathes in a new wind, “And I’ve never been so happy to be devoured.”

**Author's Note:**

> Aka Claude 'Monster Fucker' von Reigan

**Works inspired by this one:**

  * [Them](https://archiveofourown.org/works/23789182) by [Azurite9925](https://archiveofourown.org/users/Azurite9925/pseuds/Azurite9925)




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